On Google, I find stories of other people’s encounters with the spirit world:
Someone describes levitating off her bed and almost being sucked into a mirror. She was just able to resist, and afterwards a team of ghost-busters rid her apartment of evil spirits hiding in the sculptures and statues.
This gets me examining every ornament in the room I share with Wanda.
The room is a tribute to Wanda’s eye for other people’s trash, and my few belongings barely make an impression on the menagerie.
A large Buddha head with four faces forever contemplating his split personality. Two fairies shadow-dancing on an art-deco tray. A parrot made from nuts and bolts poised on his own perch.
Then there’s Doris …
A naked shop dummy sits on a chair at the end of Wanda’s bed, her plastic legs akimbo. Doris. For the first few weeks I kept jumping out of my skin every time I caught sight of her. Wanda has dressed her in a hula skirt and peppered her torso with nails like a woman in a Dali painting. She drapes her with anything from net bags to headbands to leis. Today Doris is wearing a straw hat even though she doesn’t have a head.
Something about Doris and her headless state freaks me out. Soon I’m running for my life.